


who dares challenge the king

by nexusaurorae



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Art AU, Child Prodigy, DUX, M/M, Photographic Memory, Private School AU, Senior year, Victuri, Viktor is 19, Vikturi, also, and stuff, but little bits added, character name spelt viktor, character name spelt yuuri, competitive school, eidetic memory, for better characters, gentle smut, i fuckin love this au, i probably butchered it, i'm designing this to be long, it won't be, not a slow burn, not much, russian president's son, secret artist yuuri, so it'll change as i go, soft, surprise:, they'll probably fuck, this is under editing, viktuuri, yuuri is 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nexusaurorae/pseuds/nexusaurorae
Summary: The best, the best, the best. Viktor Nikiforov, you will always be the best. In every discipline, in every way. Second place is consolation to the one who lost. The best, the best, the best. You are a prodigy. You are talented. You must always win.Viktor’s head is filled with words. Blessed with eidetic memory, he relies on his abilities to recall words to aid him become, very quickly, a child genius.





	1. Chapter 1

The best, the best, the best. Viktor Nikiforov, you will always be the best. In every discipline, in every way. Second place is consolation to the one who lost. The best, the best, the best. You are a prodigy. You are talented. You must always win. 

Viktor’s head is filled with words. Blessed with eidetic memory, he relies on his abilities to recall words to aid him become, very quickly, a child genius. 

Competitions, news reports, general studies, exams; they flew over Viktor’s head as he grew up; everyday his father telling him; you must be the best. This family has a reputation. If you fail, you fail your ancestors and our whole family. I am the President of the Russian Federation; my son is no loser or silver medallist. We earn our gold. We always win gold. You will be no exception. 

Viktor was eleven, and though he could easily be in the ninth grade, he was kept in the fifth; “My son, whilst he is incredibly talented, will receive his full education at the standard rate,” his father had told the press. 

Viktor was fifteen when he quietly began supressing all the things about him that would disappoint his family. Things like him finding his best friend more attractive than the girl his mother kept inviting over for dinner. But still, he won every competition, always coming first; and when he didn’t, he was punished. Nobody asked about the bruises. 

Viktor was seventeen when his father cut his hair. It was long, so blonde it was almost silver, shimmering and reflecting light. His ‘best friend’ liked it long. Viktor did too. Most days were spent at his ‘best friend’s’ house, Viktor’s head in his lap and the boy running his long, soft finger through Viktor’s air, cigarettes in mouths and orange light dripping across their faces. Warm kisses, soft touches; until Viktor’s father decided that Viktor’s hair was too long. He chopped it off, had it a ‘proper, masculine style’ that was better suited for the future president. 

Viktor’s ‘best friend’ moved away later that year. Unbelievably, Viktor was still the perfect, intelligent, heterosexual Catholic boy his father had raised; on the surface. Whereas, it could not be any more different. 

Things began to change at eighteen. Viktor was a senior, at the International Elite Boy’s Private School, in Moscow. 

The school was slightly different to most. It didn’t have age restrictions on grades; there was an exam, and you were placed into whatever grade they saw fit for your intelligence. In Viktor’s grade, there were some sixteen year old’s, fifteen year old’s; child geniuses, like him. Boys from all over the world were accepted if they passed exams, interviews and were expected to speak two out of three languages; Mandarin, English and French. Viktor’s mandarin wasn’t as developed as his English and French, but he’d learnt enough to top the grade. Another thing that separated Viktor’s school from other schools was the ‘Dux’ system. The Dux of the school was the smartest boy across the board. Viktor was always Dux, and there had never been a moment where anyone had doubted that Viktor’s name would be called at the end of year awards assembly. On the surface, it was a title handed out to rewarded a boy’s efforts. But within the society of the school, the Dux was the King. Other boys looked to the Dux for everything, and the title came with respect. For Viktor to be robbed of his title would be a shock to the whole school, and to Viktor.

Viktor was the constant top of his grade, and never once had been knocked off his pedestal. He flew ahead of everyone else, surpassing them due to hours and hours of study dictated by his father. He was truly incredible; untouchable. 

However, Viktor was growing tired of his constant winning; call him whatever you liked, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t have decent competition anymore. Even Viktor’s father had begun complaining about how Viktor’s grade was a bunch of idiots. 

 

It was clear afternoon in Moscow, and Viktor was in his chemistry lecture, writing notes and listening intently. The first term had started earlier that week; and it was still windy and cold. The windows were open, and the cold air was rushing through, almost distracting Viktor from his professor. 

He about to ask the professor if he could shut the door when a figure appeared silhouetted against the brightness outside. 

New students at Viktor’s school weren’t uncommon, but over the past week news and rumours had ricocheted off walls at the mention of the new boy; hushed whispers spreading details. 

Viktor had heard of the boy. Yuuri Katsuki, Japanese child genius. The smartest boy under the age of 25 in Japan; at just seventeen. Viktor hadn’t paid it that much thought; the twelve year old he’d seen on TV was a cute, chubby kid with a proficiency in science and maths. 

The person he saw dimmed in comparison to the boy Viktor saw now. The figure was lean; strong even. Dark hair whispered around the frames of blue glasses and Viktor’s heart did flips and turns at the mere sight of the boy. 

Yuuri and the professor were obviously exchanging forms and apologies for Yuuri’s tardiness. Yuuri was in a beige coat that fit his physique well, and a blue beanie. His hair was a little wavy, and Viktor was on the brink of cardiac arrest. 

Yuuri sent a bright smile to the boys sitting in the lecture hall; breaking the intense, watchful air and turning it into a confused, disgusted aura. Nobody smiled here. It was an Elite Boy’s School. You were here to win, not make friends. Viktor had make a mental effort to close his gaping mouth. Never had he encountered such beauty; this new kid was so vibrant, so warm. 

Yuuri moved with a grace that entranced Viktor, as if everything he did was a dance, as if he were a deity. And he sat right in front of Viktor; one of the only available chairs. Usually people were too intimidated by Viktor to sit near him. 

The professor recollected the students and began asking some questions. 

“What is an enzyme?” he asked. This was a topic they’d just started, so naturally, Viktor was the only person to raise a hand. 

Or so he thought. Yuuri too, had raised a hand. The professor called on Viktor, going with the ‘first hand, first chance’ philosophy. 

“Enzymes are proteins that catalyse and control the rates of chemical reactions,” Viktor said, voice slightly clunky with his Russian accent; something he could never shake, no matter what he did. 

The professor nodded. “Good. Katsuki? Anything to add? Perhaps you could tell me the chemical composition of an enzyme?” 

Viktor felt a stab of sympathy. He felt like leaning over and telling Yuuri the answer, and began to lean forward, but Yuuri didn’t hesitate. 

“All enzymes are made up of protein and the proteins consist of one or more polypeptide chain, and they’re composed of long chains of amino acids joined together by peptide bonds,” he explained. Viktor’s head snapped back and the professor beamed. 

“Well done, Yuuri! Nikiforov, you might have some competition on your hands, watch out,” the professor laughed heartily and left Viktor sitting in his chair, distracted and sitting in his chair, gobsmacked. So much for a first impression.

-

Viktor had travelled between classes, Yuuri following. Yuuri and Viktor shared every class; Yuuri was just as smart as Viktor, apparently. In physics extension, the teacher began questioning Yuuri. Yuuri answered flawlessly, stumbling over words he didn’t know in English. Viktor was tempted to take notes on the things Yuuri said. 

“You’re incredible. How do you do it?” the teacher was incredulous, surprise and admiration beaming from his expression. 

Yuuri blushed shyly. Despite Viktor’s first thoughts, Yuuri seemed to be quite shy and timid. Calm, collected, but awkward a choking up at every compliment. “I have a photographic memory, but also a strong drive for knowledge. Even though people assume I was tutored inhumanely when I was a child to get to where I am today, I just really loved learning,” 

Viktor chirped up. “In other words, you’re a massive nerd,” 

Yuuri looked at him with wide, dewy eyes hidden behind glasses frames; those pretty pink lips parted in surprise. He opened them wider as if to say something, but the teacher beat him. 

“Oh, hush, Viktor. Yuuri could beat you one day. And let’s be honest, you are the supreme nerd here,” he chided. 

Viktor sighed in agreement, hanging his head in shame, huffing out a laugh as he stared at his work, the eraser at the end of his pencil at his lips. 

He couldn’t look at Yuuri, let alone meet the lingering gaze. So he resumed writing notes. 

 

Day after day, week after week, Viktor would compete with him. Yuuri beat Viktor in the first computational mathematics practise exam by two marks. The class was incredulous. Someone had finally beaten Viktor. 

Viktor should have been mad. Angry. Even scared, or upset. But he couldn’t help but to be intrigued. So someone else had a freaky memory.  
His father wouldn’t be so pleased. Viktor was lucky the school was a boarding school, or otherwise he would have received quite the beating that afternoon. 

Much to Viktor’s joy and sadness, Yuuri didn’t talk to him directly, even two months after Yuuri arrived. Viktor was corrected in class, and Viktor corrected him; neither were perfect. Far from, even. But it was always passive aggressive; sideways glances and the occasional name drop. 

“In contradiction to Mr. Nikiforov…” and “If I may disagree with Mr. Nikiforov’s theorem,”

A particularly memorable moment was when Yuuri was obviously quite passionate over the cell structure of something Viktor couldn’t pronounce. He was arguing with the professor, angrily explaining why he was right. 

“Viktor! Can I get a second opinion?” the teacher asked. Viktor looked up from his notes and chuckled a little at the two red faces. 

Viktor listened to the discussion and it was, despairingly enough, beyond him. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Yuuri’s beaten me again. I mean, who’s the real Dux here?” He asked the whole class, earning him a laugh. Yuuri just looked away before resuming his seat. The professor seemed smug; up until he stopped talking and stared at the board. 

“My apologies, Mr. Katsuki, I was mistaken. You were correct,” 

Yuuri smiled appreciatively, but Viktor heard him sigh in relief. He had seemed so sure of himself, arguing with the teacher, furiously writing formulas to prove his theorem, but perhaps it was all a rush of adrenaline, or he forgot the whole class was listening and observing. 

 

That evening after Victor was released from his last class, he saw Yuuri dash out of the classroom, towards a department Viktor himself had never been in. Trying to mind his own business, Viktor resumed his study regime that night and worked late. But curiosity got the better of him. 

 

Viktor asked a few people if they knew where Yuuri roomed and a Thai boy named Phichit said with a certain amount of pride that Yuuri was his roommate. Upon questioning, though, it seemed Yuuri hardly spent any time in his dorm room. He was either in three places; the library, the roof garden or the art department. Phichit explained that Yuuri was a brilliant artist, even if it was science and maths he was known for. Viktor nodded thankfully and took the advice and walked to the art department. 

Viktor was lost. He would admit it. Geography was usually a strong point of Viktor’s; he could remember directions too easily. But he’d never been to the art department; the school offered it but the strongest points were its scientists, its mathematicians, musicians etc. 

However he could not, for the love of god, find Yuuri. He had some questions about the formulaic theorem he was proving. Or more truthfully, wanted to solve the mystery that was Yuuri Katsuki. 

Just as Viktor was about to give up on finding the art rooms, he heard gentle singing. The tune was in a foreign language that Viktor didn’t recognise; it was an Asian language. Filled with a new hope, he followed the sound, led by the tuneful melody. 

Viktor found himself through the art department doors, and the singing got considerably louder. He followed it like it was golden through the air and stopped at a doorway. 

There was Yuuri, ever the deity, school blazer off and just in his white school uniform shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. 

And what he was painting was breathtaking. 

It was a wave, but with ink printing and stains showing contrast and depth. Different colours were layered on blues and greens like the water was reflecting a stained glass window. Viktor was entranced. He couldn’t look away until Yuuri began to turn, wiping a paintbrush. He swiftly moved from Yuuri’s line of sight and dashed for the exit; but Yuuri’s gently melody stuck in his head, even throughout his dreams. 

-

It became a regular thing, for Viktor to ask Phichit where Yuuri was, and if he was allegedly in the art department, Viktor would stand witness to the art in the making. And as end of term exams got ever closer, Yuuri began to paint more, to Viktor’s surprise. Viktor would have thought that someone like Yuuri would start cramming for his exams early on, but it was one am in the morning and Yuuri was in Studio 4A, painting a bird on a wax canvas, humming to himself. Viktor almost said something, but felt sleep pulling on him and decided he should go to bed and not risk Yuuri finding him asleep on the art room floor. 

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Yuuri was gay?

Viktor didn’t really have friends, and this was apparent as soon as exams were over and everyone was partying before the results came back, when they’d all be drinking for a vastly different reason than celebration. It wasn’t abnormal for Viktor to feel particularly lonely at this point; he didn’t get invited because he was the Head of School Council’s and Russian President’s son, and the other boys didn’t trust Viktor not to dob on them for underage drinking. 

So Viktor would have usually gone to the library to study; but instead found himself chatting with Phichit. 

“So why are you always asking where Yuuri is? Are you guys dating or something?” he asked casually, thought there was a curious edge to his questions. 

Viktor blushed. “No! I just like watching- I mean, I had some questions for him about things that he’s said about formulas and theorems,” Viktor scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Why? Would you think Yuuri’s into me?” Viktor tried to sound casual. He didn’t even care about Yuuri. It’s not like Viktor was completely in love with the articulate, intelligent, artistic, Japanese boy with a nice face and glasses and hair that shone even though it’s black-

“Viktor!” Phichit snapped him out of his reverie. “Just ask Yuuri yourself. It’s not my business, it’s his. But anyways. I was invited to go over to Mary Anne’s for the night, so I’m gonna go chat up the ladies! I’ll see you round though!” 

Viktor nodded. He’d never been to the corresponding all girl’s school, Mary Anne’s Elite College for Prodilogical Young Women, but that may just be because he wasn’t into girls. And it clicked with him. 

Maybe Yuuri was gay? 

As Yuuri played his soft Japanese music and sway gently as he painted, Viktor watched. 

Yuuri moved with a gently fluidity that made Viktor go mad; humming to himself in tune with the music and washing and exchanging brushed every so often. 

Viktor didn’t notice himself walking into the studio, standing barely three feet away from Yuuri. And neither did the latter; until, of course, Yuuri turned around and was given the fright of his life. 

Viktor chuckled a little as Yuuri’s knees buckled and he gave a frightened yelp, collapsing into Viktor’s arms. Yuuri was panting heavily, and muttering little things under his breath in what Viktor had come to realise as Japanese. 

Yuuri looked up at him and suddenly went rather pink. “S-sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said quietly, scurrying off to the sinks to wash a brush. 

“Well that what I came here to do. To see you,” Viktor said raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Yuuri’s ears began glowing a deep red. “Why?” 

Viktor laughed. “Because Phichit may have dropped a few hints that the smartest person in the school was going to be alone on the afternoon of his last exam, and I thought I’d say hi. Hi,” Viktor gave a tiny wave, suddenly feeling nervous. 

Yuuri gave him a small salute back. “Hey. You flatter me, Nikiforov. I doubt that I could even be compared to you,”

Viktor made a choked noise. “You beat me on that maths prac exam! And your knowledge on the four sciences that we take is incredible, it truly is,” 

“Oh, hush. If you only came here to flatter me, at least pick up that,” Yuuri gestured to a tiny palette of paint, “and hold it up here for me,” he pointed to the spot next to the canvas. 

Viktor did as told and quietly watched Yuuri’s face as he painted. 

“You’re staring,” Yuuri said flatly. 

“I know. Do I care? No. I like to stare at you,” Viktor’s heart pounded, anticipating Yuuri’s response. 

“Fuck off,” he said, no heat behind the words. Even maybe a tiny smile on his lips. 

After a few minutes of quiet listening to the music, Viktor piped up again. 

“How come you weren’t surprised to see me here? You were frightened, but you didn’t seem shocked,” Viktor asked. 

Yuuri looked at him as if he’d just said that grass was red. “You think I haven’t noticed you slinking around here? Also, Phichit told me you come watch me paint,” he sighed, half dramatically. “For someone with that big of a brain, you really are kind of dumb,” Yuuri joked, smiling in fake sympathy. 

Viktor feigned offense and put his finger in the red paint and dragged it down Yuuri’s cheek. 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a child, Nikiforov,” he chided. “Now, tell me what you think of this,” Yuuri said, turning Viktor’s attention to the painting. 

-

Post exams, the boys were allowed five days to regenerate and recover before jumping back into the term’s studies. 

Usually, these days were spent drinking, having sex and partying. 

But for Viktor and his nerdy friend, they were spent watching nature documentaries on Yuuri’s laptop on Viktor’s bed. Phichit was out, and so was the guy Viktor roomed with, and there were passionately arguing about something so stupid that it ended up with both of them realising the stupidity and bursting into side-splitting laughter. 

Viktor wasn’t complaining; ever since they’d met in the art room, they’d become good friends. Yuuri was a little nervous sometimes, but occasionally had an alter ego; a more confident, dominant personality that Viktor wondered if only came out in ‘certain situations’. 

But right now, he and Yuuri were just laughing, sitting, talking on his bed. 

“Where are you even from? Your accent is unfamiliar,” Yuuri asked him at one point. 

Viktor smiled. “From Russia, St. Petersburg. I grew up there, but haven’t been for ages. My dad is the President,”

 

Yuuri’s hand clasped over his mouth. “What?! So, when you’re Nikiforov, you’re Yakov Nikiforov’s son?” 

Viktor smiled and looked down at his socks. It wasn’t that simple; Yakov was his father, but the name ‘Nikiforov’ came down as a hereditary name passed down. Yakov, for some reason, was Yakov Nikiforov-Feltsman. “Haha, yeah,” 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” Yuuri asked. 

“I assumed you knew!” 

“Why? I’d never even been outside of Japan until I moved here!”

Viktor laughed. “Wow. Yeah, the old man’s running Russia, and I’m here, basking in my homosexuality,” 

Yuuri’s eyes widened a little. “Oh,” 

“Yeah. They don’t know yet, my parents. I’m still the perfect little straight Catholic boy they raised,” he laid back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “What about you, pretty boy. Surely you’re not into only girls. Or at all,” 

Yuuri laughed a little and bit into a lolly. “I-,” he started. “Yeah, I don’t know. Well, I do know, I’m just silly and am trying to deny it I guess. I’m probably closest to gay though. My parents don’t care. They just want me to happy, really,” Yuuri babbled. “What’s it like being a straight Catholic boy?” he asked Viktor jokingly. 

“Oh, it’s fantastic. I pray every day. I pray that god will guide those dicks into my ass,” Viktor said, holding back laughter. 

Yuuri laughed too at the crude joke. It was companionable bliss; both genuinely happy to be around the other. But Yuuri couldn’t help notice how pretty Viktor looked with the sun on his face, hands behind his head. 

-

 

There was only three weeks of work left before first term ended and the boys were allowed a two week holiday- usually in which the boys went home- but that wasn’t possible for Viktor and Yuuri, their houses overseas and their families thinking it would silly to come all the way home just for two weeks. 

The workload wasn’t heavy in the last three weeks, but it was enough to keep them busy. Afternoons were spent feet under thighs on either Viktor or Yuuri’s couch, working, looking at each other’s answers and comparing. Painting became less and less until the last day of school; the day when all the results from their quarter-finals were released. 

Viktor hadn’t seen Yuuri at the hall for breakfast, or at the grade assembly. Phichit had only explained that Yuuri was a bit nervous about his marks, which Viktor was calling bullshit on. 

Viktor went down to the art department, only to find a canvas that was despairingly blank. Just as Viktor was ready to look somewhere else, he heard a soft cry. 

He sped walked around the tables and benched to see Yuuri curled up underneath the easel, sobbing into his knees. 

Viktor crouched beside him. He’d never been great with people crying around him. 

He ran the backs on his fingers along Yuuri’s hand until the sobs were quieter and he wasn’t shivering anymore. Yuuri gently laced his fingers through Viktor’s, and squeezed. Once the crying had stopped holistically, Yuuri’s head lifted from his knees; wet, red eyes meeting concerned, gentle ones. 

Embarrassed, he stood up and dropped Viktor’s hand. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to, I mean, I was- I just, uh, thanks,” he stammered out. Viktor almost grabbed Yuuri’s neck and kissed him then. 

He smiled and stepped gently towards Yuuri, wiping tears off his cheeks. “Don’t worry. I didn’t know you had anxiety, you should have said,” he said softly, Yuuri’s cheeks cupped in his hands. 

“I didn’t want to be a burden-,”

“None of that,” Viktor said quickly. “Yuuri, never will you ever be a burden on me, or on anyone. If you ever are panicking, please call me. I want to be there for you,” Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, and taken aback, Yuuri hesitated before hugging back. 

“T-thank you,” he said, sniffling a little, and resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder. 

“No problem,” 

They stayed like that until Yuuri laughed a little and Viktor let him go. 

“I can’t believe today could be my last day here,” Yuuri said. Viktor slyly laced his fingers through Yuuri’s. 

“What? You just got here!” he almost laughed. 

“No, really. I’m here on a scholarship, and if my average tanks, I’ll get kicked out,” 

Viktor nodded, blushing slightly. Yuuri hadn’t flinched away yet, which was a good sign. “There’s no way you failed. Phichit told me how crazy hard you studied,” Viktor tried to console him. Yuuri was beginning to shake a little again. Viktor began leading him out into the fresher air.

“Do you talk to Phichit about anything besides me?” Yuuri jibed, after taking a deep breath. 

“Of course not! I love talking about you, and to you,” Viktor said, smiling gently. Yuuri smiled back at him, as they walked to no particular place, hand in hand. It was terribly easy being with Yuuri, Viktor thought. What would he do if I were to kiss him? 

Startled by the though, Viktor tripped over, pulling Yuuri down on top of him. 

The position they’d fallen in wasn’t comfortable; if anything, it was promiscuous. 

Viktor was on the ground, the concrete of the path cold, however the warmth of Yuuri’s ass on Viktor’s crotch seemed to faze it out. Yuuri was straddling him, hands flat out either side of Viktor’s head. 

There was a moment of shit I could so kiss him right now from both boys, until Yuuri gave a tiny squeak and scrambled off of him. 

“Viktor, I’m so sorry-,” he began, his whole face red and buried in his hands. Viktor just smirked and gently pried Yuuri’s fingers away from his face. 

Yuuri looked up at him, eyes big and brown; a face of innocence. Viktor wondered how innocent Yuuri really was. Viktor’s lips formed a wide smile and looked at those pretty pink lips, then back to Yuuri’s eyes, before leaning away and smiling outwardly but screaming inwardly. He was so close! They could have kissed!

Yuuri was too flustered to focus that night; until he received the fated notification. Viktor heard the quiet gasp from his living area. 

Curious, he walked in to see Yuuri on his laptop looking nervous. Not nervous. Terrified. 

Viktor went and sat next to him on the couch and held his hand. “Are the results back?” 

Yuuri nodded. “You do it,” he thrust the computer into Viktor’s hands, and Viktor logged onto the Portal. 

‘Grade Results’ 

He clicked on it. He smiled. “You’re not going to be disappointed, Yuuri,” he said quietly. “Look,”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yuuri painted, sometimes he told Viktor he liked to be alone, to help him focus. Viktor understood completely, though failed to not notice that as time wore on, Yuuri liked having Viktor around whilst he painted.

Viktor turned the machine so Yuuri could see. Yuuri gave a delighted squeal and wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck, hugging him tightly and throwing them so that they were lying on the couch, Viktor under Yuuri, who was giggling. 

“I can’t believe we got exactly the same mark,” he said breathlessly into the crook of Viktor’s neck. “That’s crazy,” 

Viktor pulled away, but only so that their noses were brushing. Viktor’s mouth quivered up into an involuntary half smirk, and Yuuri leaned in; the latter’s breath on Viktor’s mouth. Viktor’s heart was in his throat, pounding. He had wanted this for so long. Viktor leaned up, but just before their lips touched, the door was thrown open. 

“Yuuri and Viktor! You tied for top!” Phichit cried happily and Yuuri was so frightened he fell off Viktor and onto the floor. 

He laughed it off, but almost strangled Phichit. He got up with the help Viktor offered by extending a hand. 

They both were blushing furiously. Viktor, who was quite flushed, came to realise how hot the room had gotten and stripped of his blazer. Yuuri was chatting with Phichit. Viktor rolled up his sleeves. 

Phichit offered Yuuri to go over to Mary Anne’s to celebrate with him and a few other juniors. Yuuri cast a sideways glance to Viktor that could have made Viktor faint, and politely declined. 

Viktor was counting down the painful minutes until Phichit left. Once he did, Viktor stared after Yuuri, who was shutting and locking the door. 

“S-so Phichit’s a junior?” Viktor asked, trying to calm himself down, leaning unsubtly on the kitchen bench. Yuuri was shrugging off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves, not facing him. 

“Yes,” he turned to meet Viktor’s gaze, a flash of something dark and dangerous gleaming in his eyes. He walked over to Viktor and stood on the other side of the counter. “Phichit is a junior,” he said slowly, his voice lower than Viktor had ever heard. He looked at Viktor, as if searching for something. 

Viktor laughed internally; all Yuuri was going to find on his face was sexual frustration and a scarlet blush. 

Yuuri smirked and walked around the bench, a hand gliding along the surface as he walked, still looking at Viktor. 

Yuuri stood in front of Viktor and took off his glasses, and for the first time Viktor saw a glasses-less Yuuri. His breath hitched slightly. Yuuri ran hand through his hair, slicking it back slightly, out of his face, exposing his eyes. 

Any sort of innocence Viktor had seen in those dark, desire filled eyes was eradicated. Those eyes held a predatory gleam that had Viktor breathless. His knees felt weak. Something incredible had come over Yuuri, and Viktor was not complaining. 

Yuuri finally averted his gaze from Viktor’s but to the latter’s arms. Forearms exposed from him rolling up his sleeves. 

“This,” Yuuri breathed, tugging Viktor’s sleeves, “should be illegal,” 

Viktor almost fainted. “W-why?” he swallowed. He was not used to being submissive to someone. 

“No one is allowed to be that fucking sexy,” Yuuri placed a hand on Viktor’s neck and pulled his lips to Yuuri’s own. It was hot and wet and messy, mouth on mouth; desperate. 

Endless minutes, infinite seconds passed with the two boys wrapped up in the moment, in each other’s desperate heat. 

Viktor ended up with Yuuri’s beautiful thick thighs around his waist and his hands on Yuuri’s tanned hipbones under his white school shirt, sucking dark marks into the younger boy’s throat. Yuuri ended up sitting on the kitchen bench and moaning pathetically, hands tangled in Viktor’s hair. 

When Viktor pulled away he looked at Yuuri; the boy was completely wrecked. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle, to which Yuuri opened his eyes, and smiled; smiles turned to giggles, giggles became a fit of laughter. Viktor was genuinely happy; a feeling he’d neglected over the years. 

Yuuri kissed him again, softly, as if checking it was okay to do. Viktor smiled into Yuuri’s lips, and Yuuri did too; and soon they had to pull away because they were smiling so much. 

They stayed there for a while, smiling and kissing and giggling, gentle and calm. The first one to speak was Viktor. 

“Is this a sign I should take you on a date?” Viktor asked. Yuuri’s arms were draped over Viktor’s shoulders, thighs against hips, foreheads pressed together. Yuuri laughed and Viktor couldn’t help but giggle too because Yuuri could go from the epiphany of lust to a giggly ball of smiles. 

“Yes,” Yuuri breathed out in between giggles. Viktor kissed his cheek and Yuuri smiled. 

“Today?” Viktor asked. “Where would you go on our date?” 

Yuuri laughed and brushed Viktor’s hair around his face. “Um, I don’t know. Have you ever been ice skating?” 

Viktor smiled. “Why? Have you?” 

Yuuri blushed a little. “Yeah, when I was little, I did figure skating. I didn’t stop, but it stayed a hobby so I could focus on my studies. But my coach told me I could pursue a career if I wanted to,” he bragged jokingly. 

“So you’re startlingly attractive, heart-stoppingly smart, can paint like a god, and you figure skate? My word, Yuuri, you are a man of many talents,” 

Yuuri blushed and gave a tiny giggle. “No! Such flattery is not good,” Viktor pulled the boy closer and pressed his nose to just under Yuuri’s chin. 

“I would love to be taught to skate by Japan’s best figure skater,” he said softly. It actually wasn’t true; Viktor had been skating since he could walk, it was pretty much a custom for the President’s son or daughter to be taught the four most important artistic disciplines: figure skating, ballet, singing and the piano. He was pretty good, actually. But he just wanted an excuse to hold Yuuri’s hands. 

“I’m not the best, far from, really. I just-,” Yuuri never got to finish his sentence; Viktor was too busy kissing him. 

“You’re the best Japanese skater I’ve ever met,” he said, and Yuuri huffed out a tiny laugh. “Let’s go, I’m curious to see you skate!”

“Is there a rink around here?” 

“Probably, let’s find out,” 

 

They changed into more comfortable clothes and let reception know they were going out; the frail old administrations lady gave them directions to the nearest ice rink. Viktor had been here before, practising to clear his head a lot in his junior years. 

They walked hand in hand and Viktor asked Yuuri questions about living in Japan. 

“There are these beautiful trees that are called cherry blossom trees, or sakura in Japanese. They’re so beautiful; they line the streets, and when the flowers fall the ground is covered in pink flowers. God, I miss it,” 

Viktor smiled knowingly. “There are these beaches, in St Petersburg that I miss. It was too cold to go swimming, but you could watch the waves roll over on each other and listen to it, it was so peaceful,” 

Yuuri smiled. “Does it really get very cold here?” 

“You have no idea! It’s freezing through most of winter, like some days it doesn’t get above 2 degrees Celsius,” 

“That’s pretty cold,” Yuuri laughed. “Is that it?” he gestured to the ice rink. 

“Yeah, I think so. I’m ready to be taught how to skate!” he laughed. 

They went in and Viktor spoke in beautiful Russian so they got some skates. 

Yuuri tied his and Viktor faked not being able to. Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it, but only ‘cause you’re cute,” 

“I’m like almost two years older than you!” Viktor defended. 

“And yet here I am, tying your shoelace,” 

“Touche,” 

Viktor walked to the entrance to the ice and was shaking with anticipation. He did this every time when it came to skating. Yuuri just kissed his cheek and said not to worry. Viktor blushed. 

Yuuri glided onto the ice as if he’d never left it and Viktor watched in awe. Yuuri was amazing on the ice. 

“Yuuri! Stop being a show off!” Viktor fake pouted. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” Yuuri glided over to Viktor. Viktor didn’t know if he’d be able to pull off a ‘I’ve never skated in my entire life’ act, but he could try. 

Yuuri held out his hands and Viktor took them; blushing a slight pink on his ears. Yuuri giggled. 

“Like this,” Yuuri made a motion with his feet that Viktor copied easily. “Wow, you’re really good, are you sure you’ve never skated before?” 

“Absolutely certain,” it could be passed off as sarcasm, but Yuuri didn’t sense it. Too innocent for sarcasm, Viktor thought, but images of an hour ago, kissing him into oblivion decidedly made him rethink the word ‘innocent’. 

Viktor slipped and fell and Yuuri chuckled a little. “That’s okay, try to stand up,” Yuuri took his hands again and once he ‘got the hang of basic skating’ Yuuri glided around the rink, hand in hand with him. Yuuri skated backwards, and Viktor faced him. 

“Am I doing okay?” Viktor asked, almost uncertain. 

“You’re doing perfectly,” Yuuri said kindly. “Can I tell you a secret?” Viktor leaned in, curious. 

“I’ve seen you skate, you dolt,” Yuuri laughed, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “What good of genius would I be if I didn’t know the hierarchical political customs of Russia? The world’s leading empire. You’re so silly,” 

Viktor felt pretty silly. “Seriously? You let me pretend?” 

Yuuri shrugged. “I wanted to hold your hands,” he said shamelessly. He took a half step back to see Viktor’s red and embarrassed face. Yuuri just kissed his knuckles. Viktor reddened a little more. 

“Well, now that you don’t have to pretend, impress me!” Yuuri suggested happily. “Go on, Nikiforov, show me what you’ve got!” 

“If we’re going to date, you have to call me something other than Nikiforov. Like, I don’t know, Viktor?” he said sarcastically. Yuuri rolled his eyes. Viktor had begun to skate towards the centre of the rink, but heard Yuuri ask him. 

“Are we dating? Is that what you’d describe this as?” 

“Do you want to?”

Yuuri’s cheeks darkened. “Yes, I do. Do you?” 

“Of course,” the rink was mainly empty, but the two teenagers girls who’d overhead their conversation squealed. And the staff had an awkward laugh. Viktor was almost shameful. He and Yuuri had just agreed to date from opposite ends of a public ice rink at six in the night; but also in front of an audience. If Viktor’s parents were here, they’d be furious at a lot of things, but definitely that he’d just said something private in public. It was liberating. 

“Niki- I mean, Viktor. Vik. Do something!” Yuuri laughed at him and glided over to where Viktor was standing. Yuuri took his hands and knocked Viktor out of his reverie. 

“Do something with me, then,” Yuuri said, smiling wide. Joined at the hands, they danced on the ice to music that didn’t exist to anyone but them. Viktor, being taller, spun Yuuri around and drew the latter into his chest. They giggled and laughed, and it was messy and indecisive. But it was their moment, and they felt brand new in finding each other. They didn’t know how long they stayed, messily skating together, but eventually one of the staff, who was smiling too, having witnessed the sickly sweet moment between the two men, told them that they needed to close. 

The two boys held hands, blushing like children as they walked back. 

“I had fun with you,” Viktor said softly. Yuuri gave a tiny, shy smile. They had slowed their pace down to a halt, under the stained glass of a chapel. 

“I had fun with you too,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I like you. A lot. And I would like to try this out with you. So…” he searched Viktor’s face for any immediate denial. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?” Yuuri squirmed a little in anticipation. Viktor smiled. 

“More than anything,” Viktor said finally, taking one of Yuuri’s cheeks in his hand. “would you be mine?” 

“Of course,” Yuuri smiled. 

“Can I kiss you?” Viktor asked 

“Yes,” he said, slightly hesitant. 

Yuuri’s lips were as soft as Viktor had imagined them to be. Before, in the kitchen, it had been pent up energy; left over from their almost kiss. It had been hot and furiously fast. But now, Viktor kissed Yuuri’s lips like they were precious, because they were. His mouth was warm, and once Yuuri eased into his touch a little more, Viktor explored it further. 

Viktor’s hands were on Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri held Viktor’s scarf. They didn’t notice the cute blonde girl taking a video and uploading it to Youtube. 

-

Their two weeks of basically the entire school to themselves were serene. They had moved Yuuri’s couch into Viktor’s room, forming a huge, square, bed-like surface. Some days they only left to get food and water. Whilst they dedicated a lot of time to soft kissing and cuddling, they smartly used their break for studying and practising, Yuuri reciting things in Spanish, Latin, French and English, practising calculus and proving scientific hypothesises. Viktor listened and helped and got helped, smiling through most of it. 

When Yuuri painted, sometimes he told Viktor he liked to be alone, to help him focus. Viktor understood completely, though failed to not notice that as time wore on, Yuuri liked having Viktor around whilst he painted. 

Viktor had never, in his entire life, been this happy. Even with his former boyfriend. Yuuri trusted him, believed in him, supported him and Viktor was falling hard. He didn’t know if Yuuri loved him, but the way they kissed made it seem so. 

Yuuri was always very gentle, occasionally sarcastic and joking, but Viktor couldn’t work out why Yuuri wasn’t ever like that very first time they’d kissed. 

Viktor decided to call it ‘eros mode’, after the Greek god of desire; because it seemed fitting for Yuuri’s new persona. And Viktor was determined to get Yuuri’s ‘eros mode’ back. 

The furthest they’d ever gone was taking off shirts, making out. Even then, Yuuri was very much submissive to Viktor, and not demanding of him. It wasn’t that Viktor was desperate to intimate with Yuuri, or unhappy. Not even a little bit. He loved Yuuri too much for words, and wanted to be close to him, and Viktor felt like Yuuri was holding himself back. He wanted Yuuri to trust him enough to be himself. 

Either that, or Viktor liked seeing the authoritative, dominant side of his boyfriend. Maybe both, he decided. 

 

Every couple of days they spent a few hours at the rink, skating happily and being ‘disgustingly cute’ as Phichit had described it, when he video called them from Thailand. But most days were spent feet under thighs, quiet discussions of polynomials and other mathematical functions, the universe, families, fears, hopes, dreams. 

It was bliss. 

At one point, one day it was particularly chilly even if it was only autumn, and they were curled up together in their couch-bed-thing and with a ton of blankets and some coffee. Viktor was playing with Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri was tracing the lines of Viktor’s collarbones and neck. 

“I love you,” Viktor whispered. He heard Yuuri’s breath hitch slightly. 

“I love you, too,” Yuuri mumbled. Viktor breathed out, and they fell asleep like that, curled up in each other’s arms and warm. 

-

When school started back, they didn’t see each other outside of class very often. They were back into normal studying, work, essays essays essays, more work and less time to waste together cuddling. They didn’t miss out on meeting in empty classrooms to make out every once in a while. Viktor would occasionally wink at Yuuri from across lecture halls, and they’d study together. People speculated that they were oddly affectionate best friends or going out. Viktor and Yuuri had agreed to neither agree or deny any questions on their relationship. 

In class, they often sat together, and Yuuri would ‘mother’ Viktor and Viktor would be like Yuuri’s apprentice, even though they were pretty even on the intelligence playing field. 

Other people laughed at how serious and professional Yuuri could be one second, passionately proving his theorems, but then an absolute cutie around Viktor and other people. 

And soon enough it was the last couple of weeks before the midyear-finals of the second term. Viktor wasn’t exactly behind in his studies, but he wasn’t flying as far ahead as he usually was. He couldn’t blame Yuuri; Yuuri had been nothing but perfect. They’d been slightly more distant, focusing only on studying and practises and memorising, but they still studied together, not talking very much, but still together. 

Viktor hadn’t watched Yuuri paint in forever, and was beginning to miss the feeling of watching his deity of a boyfriend create art from his fingertips.

It was a Saturday, Viktor had decided to take a break from studying so he didn’t burn out. He walked down to the art department and surprisingly didn’t find Yuuri. 

He began to walk to Yuuri’s room, though it was unlike Yuuri to be in his room for something other than sleep. Phichit was in library; Viktor waved as he walked past. He took the stairs two at a time and found Yuuri’s door. He knocked. 

He breathed out deeply as he heard the familiar voice say a small ‘come in’. 

Viktor took one glance at Yuuri and immediately felt a jab of sympathy. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Viktor asked softly, putting a hand to Yuuri’s forehead. In the lead up to exams, as well. 

“I didn’t want you to catch it,” he gave a small cough. Viktor snuggled up on the couch with him. 

“I don’t care, I need to take care of you!” Viktor pressed a soft kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “I’m taking the day off anyway,” 

“You’ll be sick for exams! I can’t let you do that, Vik,” Yuuri said. His voice was hoarse, and Viktor almost laughed the idea of him caring more about his exams than Yuuri. 

“I’m going to take care of you, and you don’t get a say. This is my decision,” 

Yuuri looked upset, but he didn’t object. “You could jeopardise getting Dux by staying here,” he uttered quietly. 

“You mean far more to me than getting Dux, Yuuri,” Viktor said, and meant it. 

“I’m so in love with you, sometimes it hurts,” Yuuri said quietly. Viktor’s cheeks reddened and his chest tightened. 

Yuuri’s hand was hot, almost so hot that Viktor was concerned. He took the blanket away, even if Yuuri complained. 

“I’m so cold, Vicchan, no!” Viktor stared at Yuuri. 

“What did you call me?” a tiny smile played on his lips. 

“Vicchan. I-it’s Japanese,” Viktor couldn’t help but notice how strong his accent was right now. “Sorry, I didn-,” 

“None of that. I like it,” he smiled, but didn’t return the blanket. “Have you been drinking water?” 

Yuuri shook his head. Viktor moved to get him a glass and returned shortly after. Yuuri drank it and then two more glasses. 

“You’ve a terribly high temperature, if it doesn’t go down, I’m taking you to the hospital,” Viktor said, holding Yuuri’s hand and kissing his knuckles. 

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Yuuri said groggily. Viktor felt his hands. They were clammy and sweaty. He hummed. 

“Have you eaten?” he asked, his concern growing. 

“I ate toast at eight this morning but I threw it back up,” 

Viktor tutted. “Poor thing. I’ll take good care of you,” 

Viktor organised to keep Yuuri on water, check his temperature every fifteen minutes. He was writing an essay and looked over at Yuuri. Viktor watched him; he was very, very pale, almost grey. Viktor waited for Yuuri’s chest to rise, and then fall. 

It didn’t. 

He waited ten seconds more. He called an ambulance with hands shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how goes it my dudes hopefully this fluffball made your day +ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+凸(◕‿ ◕✿)+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+  
> well, except for the end  
> *guilty finger guns*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor shrugged. “My parents are going to find out that I’m not who I appear to be eventually,” Viktor said, briefly seeming to slip from his drunk mania. “And they’re going to be so disappointed in me, but who the fuck cares? I’m like, an adult,”

Yuuri isn’t breathing! he can recall telling Phichit through the phone. He’s really sick! 

Phichit didn’t ride in the ambulance with Viktor. Yuuri have received CPR, and was breathing, but it was short, shallow breaths. 

Viktor explained what happened as best he could in the foreign tongue, and the nurses and surgeons took Yuuri away. 

It was two hours before he saw Yuuri again. Each minute was a small infinity, and Viktor sat in the waiting room chairs, in Yuuri’s own beige coat. God, he missed him. Viktor rested his elbows on his knees, carding his finger through his hair. 

Viktor should not have been so focused on his essay, and more on keeping Yuuri safe. He silently scolded himself. 

Eventually the nurse came back to Viktor and asked if he was family. 

“No,” he said in Russian, “but I’m closest he’s got to family in this country. I’m his boyfriend,” 

The nurse nodded. “This way,” 

Yuuri was asleep, and the nurse firmly told Viktor not to try to wake him. 

Once the nurse was gone, Viktor found himself dizzy. He collapsed into a chair. His vision was grey and cloudy, but he made a tiny whisper. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” 

Viktor’s gaze travelled from the blank, sleeping expression of Yuuri’s face to the oxygen mask that half covered it. The little bruise the gown he wore showed on his collarbone; one Viktor had left. He almost would have smiled if he wasn’t watching the person he cared most about in the entire world be in pain. 

He thought of Yuuri; just how unique he was. How he could be in shock, shy and timid, deflect compliments and be modest and then, once comfortable, become a confident, outspoken man. And then there was Yuuri’s one time ‘eros mode’ incident. It was like, Viktor thought, depending on how comfortable Yuuri was around a person, the more confident he became. 

When Viktor first caught Yuuri in the art room that day, he was so frightened, even if he had known Viktor had a tendency to be there. And then very quickly he became confident, ordering Viktor around. And then later… 

Viktor, even though he promised he’d be there, was asleep when Yuuri woke. Viktor wanted to smack Yuuri for not waking him up as soon as Yuuri did, but of course, the latter was too considerate. A warm act of love, compliant with his more softer and compassionate side. 

“I like your sleeping face,” Yuuri said softly, once the nurses had taken the oxygen mask off. “You smile in your sleep,” 

“Only when I dream of you, dearest,” Viktor was sitting in the companion chair, holding Yuuri’s hand, kissing his knuckles. “I almost thought I was going to lose you back there,” 

“Nah, just a high temperature. They want to keep me here for a few days to monitor the fever. But once I’m clear, I can get back to work,” 

“And what caused this fever?” Viktor knew full well what caused it. 

Yuuri looked sheepish. “Don’t get mad,” he met Viktor’s almost cold, but expectant face. He looked hot like this, Yuuri couldn’t help but speculate. “I was studying and practising and I forgot to eat a bit, and drink, and then over a few days I got kind of sick,” 

Viktor shook his head. “Yuuri, why didn’t you say? I am bringing food every time we study from now on,” 

Viktor wasn’t mad, not even close. But he was a little shaken. “I need you, full stop. But under that, I need you to keep yourself healthy and out of trouble. If not for you, for me,” 

Yuuri nodded. “Okay,” 

Viktor began to feel tears welling in his eyes. “I just… You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he sniffed. “And I love you too much for you to leave me now,” 

Yuuri looked at him as he cried, and gently brushed the tears away. “I’m not going anywhere, Viktor. Not without you coming with me,” 

Viktor smiled and he stood, gently, pressing Yuuri back so he could sleep. “Rest, lyubov moya,” he purred softly in Russian. 

Yuuri smiled, his eyelids obviously heavy. Viktor gently stroked Yuuri’s nose and brushed the hair from his tanned face until the younger boy fell asleep. 

 

Viktor ended up bringing his textbooks and helping Yuuri revise for their upcoming exams, and studying himself. Viktor would have to take the tests normally, but of course, Yuuri missed two days of his exams whilst in hospital and was granted extension, which pleased Viktor, but not Yuuri. The latter wanted to take his exams with a IV in his arm. 

Yuuri was sent back to school, Viktor driving him. He was unexpectedly quiet the entire way, staring blankly out of the window. Viktor made an effort to hold the younger boy’s hand when he could, giving him reassuring squeezes and kisses to the back of his hand. 

“Yuuri-,” Viktor tried, but he was interrupted. 

“I’m fine,” 

“I’m calling kherovina,” he said softly. “You’re upset. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but at least acknowledge that you’re upset,” 

“Okay. I’m upset,” the raven-haired boy turned to Viktor. Viktor watched the eye contact slip into tears as he drove. 

Yuuri choked out a sob and cried into Viktor’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor said softly, letting Yuuri cry into him. “You’ll be okay,” 

“I’m going to fail. I’m so unprepared, Vicchan,” Yuuri murmured little untruths to Viktor, who frowned. 

“Yuuri, you are at a slight disadvantage. But no way in hell are you going to fail. You’ve already worked so hard, four days out of action probably did you some good,” Viktor said realistically. 

Yuuri nodded stonily and the drive was silent, with the exception of the occasional choked up sob. 

-

Viktor watched Yuuri through the glass doors. He was walking to his chemistry exam. Viktor leaned against the glass, nose upturned and producing little puffs of steam on the transparent surface. 

He had watched Yuuri break down twice since getting back to school, and had to watch Phichit talk the boy down. There were some things Viktor couldn’t help Yuuri with, and unfortunately it seemed that the panic attacks that debilitated Yuuri were slightly beyond him. Much to Viktor’s sadness. 

Yuuri had always being an enigma to Viktor. His personality was so fluid; jumping from timid and terrified to outspoken and strong to hopelessly in love within moments. But Yuuri’s anxiety made Viktor’s insides twist. Seeing someone like Yuuri, someone he loved, be in such distress and not being able to help them; it made Viktor equal parts upset and then angry. 

Viktor sat on the common room lounge, mindlessly skimming textbooks to pull up information later. But the rest of his mind was on Yuuri. It was a four hour exam, and it was only one hour to go. Viktor paced a little, until one of the boys he had a room near threw a glue stick at Viktor’s head. 

“Stop pacing, idiot,” said the French student. His English was good, but tainted with hitched ‘r’s’ and dropping out the ‘h’ sound. 

Viktor sighed in exasperation. “Ow, Jean,” he shot a pointed glare at him, silver fringe, falling in front of his eyes.

Jean ignored him. “We’re all worried for your little faggot boyfriend. Burn out is rough. And he was full on sick, too. I would have used it as an excuse to get out of exams,” he said, sipping out of a silver flask.

Viktor chose to ignore the slur and picked up the kid’s flask. 

“What is this?” Viktor uncapped it and smelt it. 

“Who the fuck knows? It’s strong though. Helps numb the pain,” Jean stared off wistfully. 

This wasn’t unusual for the school. The boys were not usually nice to each other, but all of them were pressured in one way or another to do better, be better, be the best. Thus, there was a small sense of understanding when it came to drinking off the pressure in between exams. Especially during Hell Week, as they called their exam block week. 

Jean sent Viktor a weary drunk look, eyelids heavy. “Viktor, don’t. We all know how you get when you drink. What will Yuuri say?”

“Yuuri doesn’t need to know,” Viktor said softly. He drank some, then coughed. “Fucking hell, what is this?” Viktor sputtered. 

“Tequila, vodka, gin, cracker dust, coke and some weird alcohol that makes you go loopy,” Jean said, drawing circles around his ears in the air. “I called it the Liver Destroyer,” Jean smiled blankly. Viktor chuckled and shot it down. He murmured a spot apology to Yuuri in advance. 

-

Viktor, when drunk, was something to behold. Flushed cheeks, shirt unbuttoned, lying in the sun, sunglasses on, on the roof. He chuckled to himself, in a state of mania. 

Jean had given him more and more of his clusterfuck of alcohol and Viktor had abused it. How he had not passed out or died from alcohol poisoning was beyond the other boys. 

Everything about Viktor Nikiforov was beyond the other boys. 

Viktor didn’t hear roof door open, but felt eyes on him. “Yuuri!” he said in fake enthusiasm. 

Yuuri wordlessly picked up the jug of disgusting liquid and used one of those strong arms to throw it far off the roof. 

“Get up,” Yuuri said. 

Viktor looked hurt. “Yuuri, my Yuuri. You were always so calm and soft. And shy. You’re not very shy anymore. Why, my Yuuri, why?” he feigned sadness. 

A pause. “Viktor, you helped me when I got sick, I’m helping you,” Yuuri said firmly. Viktor laid back, the weather cold but the sun was strong. 

“Yuuri, I’m not sick! I’m dandy. I just… I couldn’t help you, exams suck, everything’s a mess, we have to go home this break, you know…” 

Viktor watched as Yuuri slipped off his blazer and rolled his sleeves up, sitting next to him. 

“I get that,” he murmured. “You can always come back to my place. My family run a hot spring and sort of hotel thing, and you’re welcome to stay,” 

Viktor shrugged. “My parents are going to find out that I’m not who I appear to be eventually,” Viktor said, briefly seeming to slip from his drunk mania. “And they’re going to be so disappointed in me, but who the fuck cares? I’m like, an adult,” 

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. 

“Fuck off,” Viktor sighed. “I’m mad, you stole my drink,” he pouted. 

Yuuri gave him the most tired, exasperated look Viktor had ever seen. 

“Look. Here’s the plan. You stop this,” he wiggled a finger around Viktor’s lazy, drunk, half naked body in the air, “you get your finals done, you win Dux, you finish your last year here well, then we deal with your parents sensibly, and together,” 

Viktor sat up a little, interested. “Together?” he asked softly. 

“Together.” Yuuri replied earnestly. “You don’t have to do it alone,” Yuuri brushed a finger over Viktor’s cheek. 

Viktor began to laugh mockingly. “Fuck that,” Viktor grinned, pleased with himself for tricking Yuuri. He laid back down. 

“You’re being an asshole, Viktor,” Yuuri said, agitated. 

“Again! Where’s the little shy Yuuri that crumpled into my arms when he was caught painting? Hm? That Yuuri wouldn’t be so awful to me,” 

Yuuri sighed. “Talk to me when you’re not drunk, Nikiforov,” he got up and walked off the roof. 

Viktor was kind of hurt by the coldness of Yuuri’s tone. Didn’t he understand? Weren’t they supposed to be in love or whatever?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t get better. Viktor goes in and out of calculus, history, chemistry, everything- until it’s been a month.
> 
> A month without Yuuri is like, a year in Viktor’s book. And it still, it doesn’t get better.
> 
> They meet eyes, they tip their heads curtly, they passive-aggressively correct each other in class, and Viktor’s mind is a repeat of where did it all go so, so wrong? 
> 
> And he’s not sure of much at this point, but he is sure that he’s sorry and he takes it all back, but Yuuri won’t give him his attention- or, enough attention that Viktor can actually explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viktor's a little slow, a little sad and pretty lonely feat. yuri p, otabek and chris remixed by a tense change 
> 
>  
> 
> i'm back yall, and there should be a week tops between now and the next chapter

It doesn’t get better. Viktor goes in and out of calculus, history, chemistry, _everything_ \- until it’s been a month.

 

A month without Yuuri is like, a _year_ in Viktor’s book. And it still, it doesn’t get better.

 

They meet eyes, they tip their heads curtly, they passive-aggressively correct each in other, and Viktor’s mind is a repeat of _where did it all go so, so wrong?_  

 

And he’s not sure of much at this point, but he is sure that he’s fucking _sorry_ and he takes it all back, but Yuuri won’t give him his attention- or, enough attention that Viktor can explain.

 

Viktor rubs a hand over his face, trying to memorise the characteristics of Gatsby and how his perspective shaped his response in certain environments and Viktor can’t help the droop of his eyelids. The library is quiet, a fire crackling behind him, warming his back and neck. It reminds him of how warm it was at the beginning of the year, when he met Yuuri. Which, was not warm at all- but Viktor could be fooled for all the body heat they exchanged in those four months they were dating.

 

When Viktor looks at the past six months of school, it makes his tummy do a little flip and his throat clog up. He couldn’t imagine doing this year without the anxious Japanese boy who Viktor hadn’t recovered from. He’d give anything for just one day from when he and Yuuri were on merely speaking terms- even a day from those first weeks where all they did was awkwardly chat and correct each other in class. Viktor swears he’ll spend the rest of his life getting over Yuuri. And when Viktor feels a warm, soft hand rub over the back of his neck, he pretends, just for a moment, that it’s Yuuri’s.

 

“Vik, you’ve been so out of the loop, my friend, why is that, hm?” says a thickly accented voice, the choppy Russian making Viktor do a full body turn behind him.

 

“C-Chris?” he stammers, heart doing funny things in his chest. “What are you doing here?”

 

Chris grins, wide and lop-sided. Viktor remembers tracing it with his fingertips and tongue, hidden under covers, skin on skin, secrets on secrets.

 

“I came to see my Vik. I heard you just had a rough break up, and I didn’t want you to start drinking again or contract a STD. Poor little Viktor…” he purrs, fingers lifting Viktor’s head with his fingertips under his chin, leering over him. Chris brushes his lips over Viktor’s, and Viktor lets him, before he jolts away- and shamefully, it’s not because of his feelings for Yuuri.

 

It’s because he realises that Chris can’t have known he’s out of a relationship.

 

“Where did you hear about?” Viktor whispers, face blanching.

 

“Oh, child, don’t you worry, just through the grapevine. Your ugly-ass father won’t know a thing.” Chris assures him, but Viktor can’t say he’s convinced.

 

They get wasted. Rip-roaring, completely hammered, black out drunk. There’s sloppy and desperate handjobs and empty kisses, each boy too young and too scared and needing something that neither could place. It doesn’t mean anything, they don’t love each other in a way that this could become more than what it is- and it’s nothing more than a reunion of a love that never could have lasted. Viktor’s roommate is less than impressed, but can’t really say anything against Viktor- no one could, against the Dux. He does, however, spread the gossip.

 

And Viktor walks into a shitstorm, come Monday.

 

He leaves Chris- hungover to high hell and back- dazed on his bed, with a bucket, ice water and coffee in a thermos, and leaves for class. His first is calculus, in which, of course, Yuuri is in- sitting his old chair. He’s between some kid with a top cut and sunglasses- Viktor knows his name is Otabek- and Phichit. None of them spare him even a glance. Viktor knows this routine, Yuuri’s told him before.

 

They were hiding beneath a bedsheet in that first break, shirts off and legs tangled together, pressing their fingertips lightly together and then apart, a tiny, absent-minded dance. Yuuri had said, “I can never meet eyes with people I’ve loved once their out of my life.” and Viktor hadn’t worried, of course not, why should he? He’s made it this far already, he’s got Yuuri, warm and pliant in his bed, what could he possibly think of doing that would be better than this, that could risk this?

 

And Viktor wants to cut himself open with a dull letter opener. It’s at times like this, when he wishes he could _fucking forget._  

 

He takes residence next to a kid that looks younger than Yuuri, even. His face is innocent and cute, his hair a short blonde bob, with a workbook open in front of him. There’s sketches in margins and Viktor huffs, realising. He only knows one kid that is _this_ obsessed with tigers.

 

Yuri Plisetsky, also Viktor’s cousin, turns around fiercely, “The fuck you laughing at- oh, it’s you.”

 

Viktor can feel eyes on him, can feel the sharp attentiveness. Obviously, Yuri hadn’t heard the news. Because Viktor broke up with Yuuri only to go straight back to Chris, according the whispers and the raised eyebrows he got from the other boys. But Viktor Nikiforov had done it- not some lowly junior- and therefore it was cool, it was edgy, Viktor’s such a heartbreaker, imagine how he could wreck Mary-Anne’s if he was straight.

 

It had always fascinated Viktor that when he came out- a rather dramatic scene of standing on the dining carts with Chris and mauling his mouth- it had just been… accepted. Those who weren’t okay with it were outcastes and shunned until they eventually came to terms. And everyone else was indifferent- nobody really had the time to bully to even to care- ‘I have too many exams to give a single fuck, man, if you like dick, go wild’. Viktor’s lips curl at the memory of that particular conversation.

 

Yuri hits him across the face- not enough to hurt, even a little bit- but it snaps him out of his memory.

 

“God let me forget how fucking annoying you are, and now I’m being reminded. Answer my damn question.”

 

He’s speaking in Russian now, and Viktor wishes it were private, but at his school, he knew fourteen other Russian kids and 23 on top of that, that were fluent in the language.

 

“And what was that?” he asks, reeling the temptation to ruffle the kid’s hair. Honestly, today was going be a shithole from hell, but Viktor was just pleased to see his little cousin.

 

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Why are people always talking about you? What the fuck is wrong with this fucking school?”

 

“Well, first of all, swearing in class can get you detentions which can deduct your overall grade. And second of all, I’m the Dux.” Viktor grins at him sideways, cockily.

 

“So what? You’ve got a dumb memory. You win awards. Big deal. It doesn’t make you any better socially,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Right?”

 

Viktor fixes the blonde tiger’s collar- it’s sticking up, and he’d be openly mocked for not looking good enough- and it surprises him that Yuri actually let him. Viktor smiles slightly, because Yuri may the apathetic cool kid of the family, the one with issues and stashes of alcohol and a nightmare for the PR Department, but here he is, letting Viktor help him because he’s feeling nervous.

 

It’s not the first time Viktor’s helped Yuri adjust to a new school. He’s certain it won’t be the last.

 

Viktor just pats his cheek condescendingly. “Of course it does.”

 

The professor walks in, and silence falls in the lecture theatre. Viktor drops his shoulder bag and pulls up the study table for his chair, and it’s quiet bar the shuffling of the students and professor organising his notes.

 

The class begins. Yuuri’s quiet, taking notes. Viktor’s quiet, also taking notes. Yuri’s freaking out, because _holy shit this is hard work, I haven’t learnt any of it._

 

Viktor leaves. He’s happier than he has been for a while, but he still feels… empty. He has a free period next- and he knows he’s safe, because it’s in this period that Yuuri has art- and he returns to his dorm.

 

Chris grins when he walks in, then winces. Viktor huffs a laugh and sheds his blazer, moving to open his blinds, making Chris groan and shuffle under the blankets.

 

“You always did get bad hangovers.” Viktor remembers it, that first night, when they had been messing around like always, before it became something emotional rather than primal. He remembers it, like he remembers every time they’d had sex, and it flicks a little heartstring.

 

He knows it’s guilt- guilt because he was here, with Chris, someone he loves so dearly, someone that once upon a time Viktor would have killed to have back in his bed, probably naked- and yet Viktor’s thinking of Yuuri. He wants this with _Yuuri_ and he _can’t_ and it _hurts._  

 

“You’re in love, Vitya.”

 

He hangs his head in shame, a hand resting on the windowsill. “I’m sorry.”

 

There’s shifting blanket noises from the bed. “What for? We were a long time ago, baby, don’t go round thinking I’ve been celibate after you, just because I felt something back then.”

 

Viktor laughs, and it’s not a nice laugh. Not like with Yuuri, those times. This is a mean laugh. “Of course you haven’t, I would never expect you to.”

 

Chris picks up on how bitter it is, Viktor can tell by the way he opens his mouth quickly on the defensive, then closes it, thinks carefully, then says, “No. No, Vitya. You felt something very deep for me, maybe even love, but it’s nothing like you feel for him.”

 

“You don’t even know him.” Viktor’s stripping off his shirt, putting on Chris’ hoodie, and climbing into bed with the aforementioned. The sheet lifts up and Viktor snuggles under and Chris smells like the morning after and stale alcohol but Viktor doesn’t care.

 

“I don’t need to. I may have been seriously knocked last night, but you weren’t yourself. You weren’t the feisty little Vitya that pulled my hair and teased me, you were Vitya that needed a kiss,” he murmurs, kissing his forehead softly, “and a damn hug.” he tightens his arms around him and Viktor could cry because Chris came back exactly when he needed him, holy god.

 

There's a beat of silence, before Viktor says, “I could love you again, you know.” Viktor’s tucked up against Chris’ chest now, unashamedly leeching off his body heat.

 

“I know you could. But it wouldn’t be the same, baby. You would be hung up over this pretty boy and I’d be sleeping around. We’re different.”

 

Viktor wants to argue but he knows it’s true, so he keeps quiet and presses a little kiss to Chris’ collarbone. He falls asleep and misses physics. Yuri leaves him an angry text message, but he’s a little numb.

 

Maybe it makes him weak, but it also makes him kind of human.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri just melts into the table and gives a pathetic whimper. Otabek hands him his Gatorade and pats his arm reassuringly. Viktor, even whilst failing in the love department himself, applauds Otabek on being an excellent friend-slash-potential-boyfriend in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back! 
> 
> this chapter: kindling friendships feat. otayuri

It’s another month, and then it’s third term finals.

 

It hits Viktor like a truck, because since Chris left, he’s been left to brood on his own. His schoolwork hardly suffers, but he’s missing Yuuri and it’s awful.

 

He remembers watching Yuuri study, how he would have a little divot in between his furrowed eyebrows as he worked through equations, comprehensions, difficult words and verb conjugations and Viktor’s heart thumps in his chest as he remembers everything.

 

Yuri elbows him. The kid has grown into the habit of sitting with Viktor in the classes they share, melting into a puddle because _fuck this is harder than he first thought._

 

Viktor looks at Yuri, and his eyes betray him. Yuri glares at him, but it’s not mean.

 

Yuri eventually found out what Viktor had done, and Viktor earnt a good kick to the shin. Apparently, Yuri and Yuuri were friends. Viktor didn’t mind.

 

“Stop thinking about him. You’re at school. Nurse your broken heart later; help me work this out now.”

 

Viktor huffs at the demand and shoves his flawless working out book at Yuri. He gets a semi-grateful nod in return, because the blond is already back to work, eyes flicking between the two books.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a group of boys huddled together, pouring over a page on one’s laptop, eyes wide and glazed. Viktor laughs slightly, because they found a Quizlet covering an entire topic- he swears some of them might cry.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to meet eyes with Otabek Altin. He instantly smiles and stands up. “Altin.”

 

“We need to talk, Viktor,” he says, eyes travelling over to Yuri, who’s about to go insane over negative graphing. Viktor raises an eyebrow, following his gaze. Otabek glares a little and drags him by the bicep to the back of the library.

 

“What’s the problem, Otabek?” Viktor murmurs, following elegantly despite Otabek’s roughness.

 

Otabek scowls. “I don’t know why the fuck you would hurt Yuuri like you have, but I’m willing to look past it for your cousin’s sake.”

 

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “You have a crush, then,” he laughs, eyebrows fully raised now.

 

“Oh, be quiet.”

 

“That means yes.”

 

Otabek was the King of Scowls, in Viktor’s mind. The former rolls his eyes and nods a little. “So, I think we should help him together. Because I want to get to know him but also I take organic chemistry with him and you don’t.”

 

“I used to. Remember, we were partners!” Viktor reminisces, brushing their shoulders.

 

Otabek rolls his eyes. “Are you down or not?”

 

Viktor snorts and nods. “Yeah, sure. How is Yuuri?” he asks, changing the subject to something much more important.

 

 

Things begin to work out, with Viktor and Otabek working together to help Yuri through the weeks before exams, handing in assignments and essays and adjusting him to the culture of the school.

 

When it gets to Hell Week, Viktor, Otabek and Yuri are fried.

 

“But what about the parabola-“

 

“Yuri, shut the fuck up, I’m going to die.” Otabek had his face buried in his hands, sheets and sheets of geography notes out in front of him. Viktor just kept typing a mile a minute, trying to finish his essay due in an hour.

 

“Vitya, help me, please, just this once,” Yuri babbled in Russian and it’s enough to get Viktor to look up. He sighs, leaning over to look at the problem.

 

It’s a hard one, he won’t lie, and it’ll take him a while to work out, as good as he is. He begins working it out, then Otabek smirks at him, before poking Yuri.

 

“Hey, there’s Yuuri, get him to help you.” Otabek’s smirking, as if he knows that Vitkor is melting in his chair. He leans back and tries to engross himself in his essay. (Tries, being the operative word in that sentence.)

 

“Hey, Yuuri!” Otabek calls, beckoning the boy over. He’s in sweats and a hoodie, and that same blue beanie from his first day. Viktor remembers.

 

He looks up, mid-sip of something, and Viktor’s not sure if it’s green tea, jasmine tea or black coffee but it looks like it could be water for all the good it’s doing.

 

Yuuri looks like death warmed up- and selfishly, Viktor’s a little happy that he’s not the only one.

 

Yuri snorts. “What’s with you?”

 

Yuuri looks at Viktor, before sighing resignedly and turning back to Yuri and Otabek. “What do you mean?”

 

“You look fresh out of the hospital, you’re practically grey.”

 

Viktor’s staring, he knows he is, but Yuuri is so close and it _hurts_ because he can’t clutch him tight and hold him and stroke his hair like he wants to. He _knows_ Yuuri’s being eaten alive with anxiety, that he’s practically trembling with it. And he can’t do a damn thing.

 

A part of him wants to dramatically fall at Yuuri’s feet, beg him for forgiveness, but he can’t- he’d scare the shaky Japanese boy away.

 

Yuuri shrugs. “I’m tired. What do you want?” he asks, and he definitely sounds tired enough, but Viktor _knows_.

 

Yuri huffs, pulling out a chair for him. “Sit down, help me do this equation.”

 

Yuuri sits down, eyes half lidded with tiredness. “Sure.”

 

Yuuri looks over the notebook, picking up a pen and mumbling to a rapt Yuri the processes. He finishes after about two minutes, showing Yuri and making sure he understood and Viktor’s not quite sure he’s right. He opens his mouth to contradict, but Yuri throws him under the bus anyways.

 

“Viktor’s answer was different.”

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows lift. “Huh.”

 

Viktor looks up, meets eyes with him and any thought of speaking leaves him. He just stares, mouth open.

 

Yuuri stares back before looking back down at Yuuri, a little frantic. “Just check the answers. I’m going to go catch a nap.” he pats Yuri’s shoulder, who’s flipping through the textbook before glaring at Viktor.

 

“The fuck? You’re meant to be the smartest one here, dumbass!” Yuri snaps, throwing a sheet of paper at Viktor’s face.

 

“I’m not a superhuman, brat,” he responds, but it’s not harsh, because he’s watching Yuuri walk out of the library. The overtired boy closes the glass doors behind him and obviously forgets he’s in Viktor direct line of sight, because he meets Phichit and bursts in tears, falling into his friends arms.

 

Viktor doesn’t finish his essay.

 

______________________________________

 

It’s the second last day of Hell Week and Viktor, amongst many other boys, is ready to pass out. He walks out of his history exam- three and a half hours of hand cramps and sophisticated language- and straight to library. Tomorrow is calculus and physics, and Viktor wants to die; and he knows both that Yuri does as well, from the snail’s pace he’s going at in learning the content.

 

He walks into the library, and Yuuri and Phichit are sitting at the table with Yuri and Otabek, who are sitting suspiciously close.

 

Viktor knows that both of them had a certain affinity for the other, and he also knew that they had shared many late night study sessions for the subjects Viktor didn’t take that Otabek and Yuri did- organic chemistry, biology extension, business ed.- but he _didn’t_ know they’d make such progress so quickly.

 

He decides not to comment on it. Instead, he sits in the empty chair next to Yuuri and flops his head on the desk. “I hate history.”

 

Otabek gives him a sympathetic pat on the head and he moans into the table.

 

Yuri throws a pen at him. “Help me with theoretical physics!” he screeches and Viktor feels Yuuri shift closer to Yuri, their legs brushing.

 

Yuuri immediately jolts his leg away, but Viktor’s heart still gives a great lurch.

 

“What do you need help with?” Yuuri asks him, and Viktor looks up, noting that Yuuri looks a little more human today.

 

“Thermodynamics and statistical.”

 

Yuuri whistles under his breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re fucked, man. Isn’t the exam tomorrow?”

 

Yuri just melts into the table and gives a pathetic whimper. Otabek hands him his Gatorade and pats his arm reassuringly. Viktor, even whilst failing in the love department himself, applauds Otabek on being an excellent friend-slash-potential-boyfriend in his head.

 

Viktor pipes up. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

 

Yuri contemplates him, then his textbook, then a past paper, then looks back to him. “I’m just going to pick you and Yuuri’s brains as I go.”

 

Viktor also applauds Yuri in his head- if there’s one thing the kid does possess, it’s drive. Viktor would have copped out a long time ago.

 

“So, Viktor and Yuuri, what the _fuck_ is the Higgs Boson?” Yuri starts and Viktor jumps in first.

 

“It’s a particle. It’s like a ripple of condensate, or a splash in the treacle that fills all of space.”

 

Yuuri nods from his notebook, and Yuri writes it down. It goes like this for a while, Yuuri and Viktor interchangeably answering Yuri’s questions.

 

Yuri looks up for a moment. “What’s the thing for momentum? I’ve forgotten.”

 

Viktor snorts and answers the exact same thing as Yuuri, at the same time, “the quantity of motion of a moving body, measured as a product of its mass and velocity.”

 

Yuuri looks up at him and laughs, because it’s the exact line from the textbook and they both have it memorised.

 

It’s another couple of minutes before Yuri looks up and asks, “What’s the force thing from classical mechanics?”

 

Yuuri looks up, pen dropping onto his notebook, looking confused. “That isn’t theoretical, that’s Newtonian.”

 

Yuri’s shoulder sag, and he looks like he’s about to give in and just go watch Netflix. “Just answer the question.”

 

Viktor sighs and reaches for another piece of paper to write it out for him, writing out the formula.

 

Yuuri, however, reaches for the paper, reads it,, rolls his eyes and throws a pen at Viktor –and Viktor feels like Yuuri is being _playful_. “You, in all your majestic memory glory, never get this right,” he murmurs, shifting closer so Viktor can read what Yuuri’s writing as he does. “There must be a hole in your memory or something.”

 

Yuuri hands Viktor the sheet. Viktor reads the perfect formulas:

 

 **Force** ‎: ‎kg·m·s−2

 **Pressure and energy density** ‎: ‎kg·m−1·s−2

 **Dynamic viscosity** ‎: ‎kg·m−1·s−1

 **Irradiance and energy flux** ‎: ‎kg·s−3

 

And he laughs, looking back at Yuuri. “Fuck this, I’m so dumb.” He hands the formulas back to Yuri, without looking. Yuuri breaks the eye contact first, which, Viktor isn’t surprised by. But the three seconds of little smiles, and a gentle spark of friendship was worth everything.

 

And Viktor thinks that maybe Yuuri wants him as much as he wants Yuuri.

 

He doesn’t hold his breath.

 

(he does get pretty excited, though.)

**Author's Note:**

> (///∇///✿)  
> hi! comment you feedback! also: this is unedited, sorry for typos!


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